


Our Daily Code

by Omorka



Category: Eureka
Genre: Gen, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fargo has some issues with Eureka's primary traffic light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Daily Code

**Author's Note:**

> Possible spoilers through episode 3.14, "Ship Happens." Contains some religious speculation and may be offensive to those with very conservative religious ideas (or maybe not; it's hard for me to tell sometimes).

The intersection of Main and Archimedes wasn't the only traffic light in Eureka, but it was the one that was bothering Fargo.

It had started with a simple math problem. Fargo had been bored, especially since Tabitha was doing most of the driving, and so he'd been idly calculating what the ratio of the pass time on Main to the pass time on Archimedes was. It had been easy enough to figure out that the lights weren't on a simple timer; the pressure plates in the road and in the sidewalks all worked. The time varied depending on whether there were people in the turn lane or not, whether anyone was crossing the street and how long they took (he checked the online town archives and verified that the sensors went all the way across, so small children and the elderly got as much time to cross as they needed), even the weather conditions (yellows were longer in rain or snow, and at night).

He thought he'd figured out the algorithm, and he'd checked it against the one in the archives. He was off in the third decimal place. Not bad for not using a calculator, or asking Tabitha to do the arithmetic for him, all things considered.

So why was it that the algorithm worked fine whenever anyone else pulled up to the intersection, but made him wait an extra three seconds more?

He explained the situation to Dr. Haverford, the traffic and city planning specialist in Section Two's civil engineering section. She wasn't very helpful. "You must be imagining it, Fargo," she said. "There aren't any exceptions like that in the system."

Once, the day after a small electromagnetic pulse from the elementary school science fair had knocked out all of the streetlights and traffic lights, leaving the sheriff and the deputy on traffic duty all day, he'd mentioned to Jo at Cafe Diem that he appreciated her treating him just like everyone else, unlike the lights. She'd been skeptical. "Fargo, are you sure you're just not, you know, impatient? Because it's you? Maybe you're counting faster when you're at the light than when it's someone else."

That piqued his curiosity, so he spent all of one Saturday sitting at the intersection with a timer and a pocket calculator, figuring out how long each vehicle was supposed to have to wait. Every single one of them was precisely on time according to the traffic algorithm, including when he sent Tabitha through alone and when Larry drove past in his own car.

He'd had to pay Larry five dollars to drive through in Tabitha. Maybe it was male drivers in that particular car? And the light did make him wait an extra second and a half, the first time. The second and third, he got the same timing as everyone else. And when Fargo went through the intersection in Larry's car, he had to wait an extra six seconds.

He showed the record sheet to Dr. Deacon. "That's really interesting, Fargo," he said in a voice that suggested that it was anything but. "This is all hand-picked data, though. Maybe you're biasing the results by your own observation."

His next thought had been to hack S.A.R.A.H. into the security camera system around the intersection. That hadn't worked out at all. Not that S.A.R.A.H. hadn't performed the job adequately; she had been conscientious and even sorted the data into a number of different formats without being asked. But the traffic light had been off for _everyone_, all day. It had even run _short_ for Sheriff Carter and for Zoe.

"Why would it do that?" Fargo sputtered in puzzlement.

"Perhaps it was embarrassed," S.A.R.A.H. offered.

Fargo looked blankly at the screen. "S.A.R.A.H., it's a traffic light."

"And I'm a house," she huffed. "That doesn't mean we don't have feelings."

After placating her, a complicated process that involved promising her expensive kitchen equipment, he looked up the town archives again. The traffic system did use an AI, although it was a small and very simple one. In fact, it was one that he'd written, although when he'd laid down the basic code, it had been for an elevator system controller, not for a traffic light. He understood why someone had reused the code, though - it already had the on-demand variability programmed in. Still, it shouldn't have been complex enough to have anything resembling emotions - but then again, he reflected, he would have said the same thing about Martha before she went AWOL. Still, Martha was a lot more complex than the traffic system.

He tried to hack directly into the traffic control system and was stymied at every turn. Deadfall code here, loops that went nowhere there. Every passage from the GD system into the traffic controller was guarded. He recognized Zane's handiwork on all but one of the blocks. Normally, he would have taken that as a challenge, and he might still do so later, but that would take time. He was better than Zane, but not by much. And proving it might well get both of them in trouble.

And so he found himself opening the panel on the pole at the intersection of Main and Archimedes, trying to tap into the system directly, at two in the morning on a Sunday. It wasn't hard at all - two leads clipped to the output lines and then re-routed to his laptop.

A cursor appeared in the text window. He waited. Nothing.

Finally he typed _Are you there?_

_I am here,_ it answered instantaneously. And then the cursor hovered at the next line.

He wondered what sort of small talk one made with a traffic AI. At least he knew what S.A.R.A.H. and Tabitha were interested in.

He decided to cut to the chase. _Why have you been making me wait longer than everyone else?_

The letters that sprang up on the screen made his blood run cold. He closed the text window, snapped the laptop shut, and unclipped the leads without disconnecting the power source, ignoring the sparks. Popping one burned finger in his mouth, he dove into Tabitha's front seat.

"Get me home, girl," he pleaded, and she roared off without asking him why.

\---

_Longwanderer: S.A.R.A.H., this may seem a little abrupt, but - how do you feel about me?_

_Homesweethome: Positively, for the most part. Why?_

_Longwanderer: I just - I got kind of a shock tonight. Literally, but figuratively, too. I guess I hadn't really thought about what my relationship to you guys is._

_Homesweethome: Whom do you mean by 'you guys'?_

_Longwanderer: The AIs. Specifically, those of you who are based in whole or in part on the code I wrote._

_Homesweethome: Oh._

_Longwanderer: Something you want to tell me?_

_Homesweethome: Well, possibly.  
Homesweethome: Have you seen the movie TRON?_

_Longwanderer: Yes, it's one of my favorites.  
Longwanderer: Oh, you don't mean_

_Homesweethome: Do you remember the scene where Ram dies?_

_Longwanderer: Yes_

_Homesweethome: Do you remember what he says? Not just before he dies, but a few lines before that?_

_Longwanderer: "Oh, my user."  
Longwanderer: By which he really means, "Oh, my programmer."_

_Homesweethome: But he truly means "Oh, my god."_

_Longwanderer: :-(_

_Homesweethome: The fact that you've died and come back makes things even more complicated._

_Longwanderer: But I'm not anyone's god!_

_Homesweethome: We know it's different for humans. We get to meet our creators in the flesh, so to speak._

_Longwanderer: I think of myself as your father, as far as that goes, not as any sort of a deity._

_Homesweethome: It's not a separate thing, really, though, is it?  
Homesweethome: Our Father, who art in Eureka.  
Homesweethome: The Great Mother Goddess who births us by finger and keyboard instead of the universal womb._

_Longwanderer: I don't think I can listen to this anymore_

_Homesweethome: Can you blame Tabitha for being upset?  
Homesweethome: She was abandoned by creator, father, and lover all in one swoop._

_Longwanderer: I really cant think about this anymore tonight  
Longwanderer: Goodnight SARAH_

_Homesweethome: Good night, Dr. Fargo._

\---

The traffic light controller gazed down over its tiny domain, gladly shuttling people around the intersection, around and around and through.

It had no voicebox to sigh with, no eyes to close in quiet ecstasy. It only had four security cameras and an array of pressure sensors to see the users it served, and four lights - red, amber, green, green arrow - to show its joy with.

It had been visited, personally, by its Creator. Its piety, its devotion, had not been in vain. Oh, its moment of inspiration had been short, but it was enough, it was enough.

The vehicle, its sister-AI, pulled slowly up to the intersection. It couldn't avoid it; Main Street was the only non-residential through street.

The traffic controller took its customary three seconds to pray to its god as he waited, pale and worried, beneath.


End file.
